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[Darth Mortyra]

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Mortyra walked along an upper thoroughfare. The street was busy, though less so than most, as it was reserved for those who could afford to exist at their own pace.

Polished stone stretched beneath her heels, clean to a fault, reflecting the pale clarity of the sky above. There were no clouds. Just a wide, uninterrupted blue that gave the entire district a strange, curated stillness.

A cooling breeze slipped between the structures without resistance, brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress. The air carried little scent beyond faint traces of expensive oils and distant metalwork.

The dress she wore was black, threaded with fine gold. The stitching depicted storms, patterns of curling wind, and fractured lines that suggested lightning caught mid-strike.

Gold necklaces rested at her throat. Each of her fingers bore a ring set with dark, carefully chosen stones. Bracelets encircled her wrists.

Her hair was drawn up and secured into an arrangement that left no strand misplaced. Fine chains of gold were worked through it, draping with intentional asymmetry, shifting faintly with each step before settling again.

A step behind and to her left walked a meek-looking, well-dressed man assigned to assist her. In his hand was a datapad that he was currently typing on.

Further back, her bodyguard followed. His posture remained relaxed in appearance only. His gaze did not settle. It moved constantly, measuring distance, tracking motion, evaluating every passing figure without pause.

She was here to meet a collector, one who claimed to possess a unique item she would want. Mortyra had not sent anyone ahead to inspect it. For one, she was not the type to let others know what she collected. Secondly, she preferred to determine its authenticity herself.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Darth Mortyra​

Lysander stalked the district's upper walkways. His mind was always a cold forge of calculation. Trusted and loyal, he'd been dispatched by one of the Triumvirate to verify rumors of a collector trafficking artifacts, those beyond Covenant oversight. Previously, such rumors would have been ignored. But since seizing the Core, their intelligence network had grown sharper.. better funded. Evolved with resources. What once began as a few scattered informants had become a large network of operatives. Almost like becoming something you once despised.

Today he wore the familiar black cloak of Sith.. which was no longer a rarity on Byss, now infested with followers of the Dark, or at least sympathizers. Some just played at darkness, but he truly embodied it now. By the time he reached the main thoroughfare, he'd already pinpointed the collector's building; it was a slim tower. The entrance was guarded by security nodes. There was no need for reconnaissance. After all, this planet had become his home, claiming him, as he was drawn back again and again by forces he couldn't quite name. Maybe it recognized what he was becoming.

He sensed a courier before need for visuals. Fear leaked from the figure like radiator. Lysander's gaze narrowed, pupils contracting. Sometimes, disorder was opportunity in disguise. Or perhaps just another excuse for violence. The man careened forward, blind to everything.. but his own panic, moments from colliding into a woman who was flanked by guards.

And so, the young Sith moved like a shadow. His grip found purchase upon the courier's shoulder. Fingers pressing harshly against nerve clusters. His other hand secured the case while also immobilizing the man's arm.

"People only move like that when a situation has gone sideways," came the words, stripped of warmth. "Tell me what happened, so I may determine if you live beyond today."